So we meticulously select the perfect turkey to eat –
judging its size, weight, aesthetic pleasure, how its home life must have been,
whether its parents were around when it grew up, the amount of room the turkey
had to roam measured in millimeters. We then select the turkey, and take it
back to our households with open arms and stomachs. The turkey becomes a part of our family, for
a short while – you may have come up with a name for it, like sprout, critter,
maybe even munchkin. However, after all of this ritual is completed… we get primal
on this piece.
There were times this thanksgiving when I imagined myself as
an early human creature, mauling and battering this carcass as to consume it in
the future. If you think about it, we create a batch of breaded celery stuff.
We then open up this turkey’s asshole,
and shove breaded stuffing up it. Bake the turkey. Take the stuffing out of the
turkeys gastrointestinal cavity, and serve it up on a silver platter to
naum-naum on – which we present all decorated in an elegant fashion. We’re
presenting asshole baked breaded goodies to our families. That is completely unsanitary. Seriously? Is that
messed up? Maybe just a bit. But I like it. Cause I am legend I am Will Smith.
The after thanksgiving ritual is quite lovely. Leisure is
the world that comes to mind. The most relaxed leisure of the whole year.
Complete permission to do some extreme lounging. Everyone is so food-coma’d out
that the single most imperative task is to get on the horizontal playing field –
enough of this vertical thing, you might say, lets get horizontal. As is what I
am doing this instant, I am jock sport super star playing the shit out of this horizontal
world.
I encourage you to indulge as well.
Happy thanks giving!
-Your horizontal jock sport super star
--Jackson
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